


lemon over ice

by kinpika



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: AU, I mean it could technically be canon anyway, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, In my heart this is canon, Maybe some minor violence in future, Narcos Timeline Makes No Sense, Prostitution is referenced a lot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:35:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22845706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: “Weren’t you supposed to be going home?”Half shrug. “Cold feet.”Same excuse for the last few months since Guadalajara. Since Leyenda and Kiki and the sleepless nights of going ‘maybe tomorrow I’ll leave’. Of writing out drunken apologies, screwing them up, throwing them back in the bin. One day he’d get around to doing it, really doing it, when he couldn’t just leave it on the back burner and pretend it never happened.Everything caught up to him eventually.
Kudos: 5





	lemon over ice

It’s two o’clock in the morning. Too humid, clothes sticking along places they really shouldn’t. Metal of the gun burning a little too uncomfortably hot against his lower back, from where he’d all but shoved it down his pants. But that was a thought that occurred every fourth step, as he kept his eyes low, hands in pockets.

Third time the charm. Two, four, three, one. First door on the right, knocking out a rhythm that shouldn’t have been so familiar. Javier inhales too deeply, for the kind of morning — no, _night —_ it was.

He can hear the locks click, but that doesn’t mean the door opens all the way. Still a chain holding it tight, and Javier spies the face that stares at him, lit only by the street lights. Voice thick, as if she had been sleeping. “Weren’t you supposed to be going home?”

Half shrug. “Cold feet.”

Same excuse for the last few months since Guadalajara. Since Leyenda and Kiki and the sleepless nights of going ‘maybe tomorrow I’ll leave’. Of writing out drunken apologies, screwing them up, throwing them back in the bin. One day he’d get around to doing it, really doing it, when he couldn’t just leave it on the back burner and pretend it never happened.

When the last three years wouldn’t roll into one long blur, and he was back home. Ring gleaming on his finger, wife on the porch. Filling out the little white picket fence, like all the life guidance books said. Javier just couldn’t figure out where he messed up along the way.

“Can I come in?”

Cayetana gives him a look. One that grasps at too many thoughts and feelings. Like he’s being chided again, _face the corner now, Javier._ Write out the sentence a hundred times. “I’m not feeling like it tonight.”

“I’m not here for… _that_.” Javier can feel the face he makes, knows that there would be a curl of lip, as his eyes find the ground between them. “I just need a night.”

Just one. One more. The kind that spreads into several weeks and the information is good. Solid. Whole. Tells himself that as she shuts the door with a sigh, chain popped, barely enough room allowed for him to go in. “You’re on the couch.”

Maybe he sighs out a _thank you_. It gets lost in the way he kicks off his shoes, gun on the bench, belt unbuckled. Routine. Like he’d walked into his own place. Except the cash is firmly folded, laid out next to the gun without a second glance.

And she doesn’t ask, as she grabs two glasses and the bottle of whiskey. Sets it up, no ice, more than two fingers. Javier doesn’t comment, that maybe he wasn’t the only one having a rough night. Instead he downs it, lets it burn all the way back, goes for another.

“Gonna have to find yourself a new crowd soon.”

Says it around a mouthful. Cayetana avoids his eye a little too carefully, as she holds her glass with more care than was necessary. Runs a finger around the rim, and it’s only when he reaches over, does she look at him.

“I know a couple of girls that I can set you up with. Looking for some protection though.”

“They’re all looking for protection.” And he gives and gives and gives, as best as he can. “Information good?”

“Always is, Javier.”

Ashtray now, and Cayetana flicks at the match. Holds it up to the end of Javier’s cigarette, just long enough for it to take, before shaking it out. Everything just felt a little slower, a little more out of place, even as she pulls out the blankets, pillows. Throws them over the couch, as she makes her exit. A wave of good night that isn’t cemented with a kiss. Breaking at the familiarity.

“Cayetana!”

She’s quick. He’s quicker. Catches the bedroom door with a grunt, even as her voice turns dry. “I said you were on the couch.”

“You know something.”

One look has him pointing his eyes towards the ceiling, as if he hadn’t seen it all before. “I know a lot of somethings, gonna have to be more specific than that.”

“Don’t play around with me here, Cayetana, I know that—“

“Javi… you don’t know.” Cuts him off, resigned sigh. When Javier looks down, he finds her twisting her fingers in the end of her shirt. Pulling it down a little too tight, before sitting on the edge of the bed.

Mouth open, like she was about to say something else, but he beats her too it. Kneels then, hand that hovers over her knee, before he decides next to her was the safest place. “Cayetana,” whispers her name, soft and slow and safe, like how she had mentioned once before. “If something has changed, you need to tell me.”

The smile isn’t true. Even as her lips find his, hand at his cheek, there’s nothing to it. Just a simple brush of lips accompanied by the way she pulls his fringe from his eyes. “I want to go to bed, Javi.”

An old top he had left behind once makes its way back in his hands. Cayetana already slips under the covers, and Javier can’t help the quip. “Thought I was on the couch?”

“Changed my mind.” Words accompanied by a yawn. He knows there were half a dozen things she could’ve said. Done. Wrapped up and hidden as he turns out the last lamp, makes sure the curtains were in place.

Slips in beside her, on his side. Mirroring the way she stared at him, heavy eyes searching his face. “It’ll be nearly six months since you started seeing me soon.”

Javier hums. “Need to file my tax for it, huh.”

Calls him something with a laugh, before she groans and rolls onto her back. Spreads out her arms, towards the ceiling. Half a mind to say she was stretching, with the way she moved her hands. That, or distracting herself, from whatever was hanging on her mind. Javier doesn’t press, only waits. Learned one too many times that it never went well, pushing for something.

A sour thought, one that almost had him reaching for the smokes in his pants. Almost. Laying there and waiting for Cayetana to drop her arms, fingers laced over her stomach. If he wasn’t willing to sleep on the couch, he might’ve commented she looked like Mother Theresa with the way she was so still — he knew exactly how that would’ve gone over, however.

“You don’t want to give me other girls and their info?”

That earns him a look, with a bite more familiar. Hadn’t meant it that way, but Javier wasn’t about to refute a conversation. Silence was making him antsy. “I know I’m not the only one you’ve been fucking. How is Vanessa, by the way? Haven’t seen her for a while.”

With a snort, it’s his turn to roll onto his back, hands under his head. “She says ‘hi’. Misses you.”

“I’m sure.”

“Wants the name of your perfume.”

Smack, right in the middle of his chest. He wheezes, sitting up a little, rubbing the spot _just_ there. Halfway into a thought, of making light of it, maybe that she had hurt an _American_ _agent_ , when he has to. Stop. “Cayetana?”

Reach for her, follow through even when she says, no, it’s fine, _don’t look._ Thumb that swipes at the tears on her face, and Javier is closer now. Unable to fight the frown. First instincts have him trying to find the bruises, the marks, the unfortunately expected downside to playing both sides of the game. It’s the part that has him grit his teeth, but there’s—

“It’s not to do with that. I’m fine, I’m fine—I’m tired.” Repeats the word, over and over, as more and more tears fall. “I’m so fucking tired.”

Never been good with tears. Never been good with a lot of things, though, even as he wraps her in his arms, draws her into his chest. Cayetana’s protests are weak, half meant, with the way her nails dig into his shirt, holding on. Draws circles on her back, as the tears begin to dry, and Javier is mildly aware of the wet spot on his shoulder.

No more talking, he thinks he hears, but he wasn’t going to argue. When the sun was up, he would be gone, and this night would pass into the next of being unimportant and nothing else. Javier would remember it, as he pulled at the matches and found another informant for the night, but that was an issue for the next night. Day. Morning. When he wasn’t whispering and reassuring and fighting the sinking feeling that settled into his skin.

**Author's Note:**

> dont look @ me


End file.
